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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WET MONTH, by HENRY BATAILLE First Line: Here in the laundry, through the blurred windowpane Last Line: And float for shelter into vases deep. | |||
HERE in the laundry, through the blurred windowpane I have seen the night of Autumn falling grey . . . A wanderer passes the ditches full of rain . . . Traveller, traveller from of old who goest away Now when the shepherds from the hills descend, Haste thee! The fires are quenched upon that way, And the doors closed in the land which is thine end . . . The road is empty and the rustle of grass Comes from so far it frightens us . . . Haste thee; The lights are out on the old carts that pass . . . 'Tis Autumn sitting in coldness dreamily On the straw chair in the kitchen hid away . . . Autumn that in the dead vines chants his lay . . . This is the moment when unburied men, White bodies washed between the waves in sleep, Feel the first chill of shuddering again And float for shelter into vases deep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOUNTAIN OF PITY by HENRY BATAILLE THE LAST LULLABY by HENRY BATAILLE JOY (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN CABANIS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS CATARINA TO CAMOENS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 10. THE DYING FALL by THOMAS CAMPION SIXTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA by HERMAN MELVILLE THE HAPPY LIFE OF A COUNTRY PARSON by ALEXANDER POPE TO BE CARVED ON A STONE AT THOOR BALLYLEE (1) by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |
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